Shades of Love
by Lizabeth S. Tucker
Summary: Sometimes help can come from the most unexpected places.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Suggested by Amy on the Gull's-Way forum._

_Disclaimer: I wish I did own anything of SJC, 'cause then I'd have enough money to buy Gull's-Way and have a huge slumber party, followed by a beach picnic, since the pool is gone._

Shades of Love

By Lizabeth S Tucker

1.

"I'm telling you, Judge, it's not safe for you to be out in the open like this. Not with Guzman killing people left and right." Mark McCormick struggled to keep up with retired Superior Court Justice Milton C. Hardcastle while keeping the garden center's flatbed cart from veering off on its bad wheel and still scan the surrounding area for possible danger.

"Kiddo, if I hid away every time some lowlife threatened me, I'd never see daylight," Hardcastle growled.

"But this guy is serious! He's already killed two witnesses from his drug trial as well as his own attorney, just for losing the case."

"McCormick, I appreciate the concern, but I have no intention of giving in to Guzman's threats."

The two men walked into the shade of the archway, momentarily blinding the younger man. A slight noise, the scrape of leather on rough concrete, caused McCormick to release the flatbed and push Hardcastle behind him as he spun about.

"What the hell are you doing, McCormick?"

"Thought I'd find you two here." Frank Harper took note of McCormick's protective stance. "Expecting trouble?"

"Guzman," Mark replied, as if that said it all.

"Ahhh, heard he escaped, did you?"

"Heard from him."

"What?"

"It's nothing, Frank. Just a note that came in the mail a couple of days ago." Hardcastle ignored the police lieutenant's startled reaction, walking on through the garden center.

"A note? From Carlos Guzman?"

"None other," Mark threw over his shoulder as he resumed pushing the cart of plants and mulch, hurrying to catch up with the Judge. "It was a death list and Hardcase was on the top of the list."

"And would someone like to explain to me why this is the first I've heard about it?" Harper frowned, trailing after the two men.

"Tonto wanted Sheriff to know, but Kemosabe refused."

"It's no big deal," Hardcastle insisted.

"Milt, don't be obtuse. It's a threat against an officer of the court which is a crime. I want that note."

"I tossed it in the trash where it belongs."

"Threw it out?!" The lieutenant's voice was raised in anger until McCormick grabbed his arm. "What?" he snapped at Mark.

"I've got it. And the envelope it came in." At the Judge's sharp look, the younger man shrugged. "Sorry, Judge, but Frank's right. It's a death threat and it has to be reported." He turned back to Harper. "I was careful, Frank, didn't touch it more than I had to. It's at home in a plastic bag."

"Good. Glad to see that someone has common sense."

Hardcastle bristled at this dig. Mark idly listened to the two old friends wrangle about the situation. He kept his own eyes on the surrounding area, convinced they were being watched.

-- H&McC --

"I've got him in my crosshairs, boss. Why not take him out now?" Leo Lipman kept his eye locked to the scope of his sniper rifle.

"Oh, no, my friend. That would be too easy. First we kill the others. Then we go after Hardcastle, up close and personal. I want to know everything, from the layout of his estate to floor plans for the house. And I want information on the young stud who seems to accompany him everywhere."

"His son?"

Guzman shook his head. "No, he's long dead. I recall reading about it when I had him assigned to my first trial. If this young man is equally close, we may be able to use him to inflict more pain. I will have to see."

"So why are we here?" Leo asked, losing sight as the men moved farther into the garden center, joined by a third man he immediately recognized. "There's a detective by the name of Harper down there."

"Only to be expected, Leo," Guzman said. "As to why we're here? I wanted to see if the letter I sent to the esteemed judge was having any effect."

"The young guy looked a little antsy."

"Yes, he did, which means he knows about me and the threat to Hardcastle. Yet I don't believe he is a cop, so I need to know exactly what his relationship is to the Judge."

Leo caught sight of the men as they doubled back, following the curving path. "You think the Judge is a little light in the loafers? I've gotta admit, the young guy's a looker."

Guzman thought about that notion, finally shrugging. "I wouldn't have guessed it, but you never know. I can't believe there wouldn't have been a rumor or two floating around if he did play on that side of the fence. I did a fairly extensive search for dirt during the trial, believe me. He could have waited until he was off the bench to indulge that particular vice. Might be another way to get at him, cause him pain, even if it isn't true. Get me goods on this young man, Leo."

"You've got it, boss."

-- H&McC --

Unwilling to trust Hardcastle not to delay the delivery of the threatening letter, Frank Harper followed the Judge and McCormick back to Gull's-Way. The black and silver pickup truck was loaded with bags of fertilizer for the lush green grass as well as some bedding plants for near the front door.

Frank chuckled. Although Hardcastle had a gardening service that came every six months, the majority of the day-to-day grunt work of being a gardener fell to McCormick. It was a source of endless arguments, the Hardcastle and McCormick form of conversation.

Frank parked his department issue Ford behind the truck, watching as Mark jumped out of the vehicle, hurrying to the Gatehouse. Frank got out of the car.

"Milt?" He called to his old friend, currently glaring in McCormick's direction.

"Sneaky little…" Hardcastle muttered as he joined Harper.

"He's worried, Milt. He's got good reason to be. It hasn't hit the news yet, but three of the jurors were murdered yesterday."

"How?"

"The jury forewoman was blown up on her houseboat. The other two were shot at long range."

"How good were the shots?"

"One each, square center of the forehead," Harper replied.

"Couldn't be Guzman. When Carlos personally fired a weapon, he was more a 'spray the bullets' kind of guy."

"Sounds like he's hired a sniper," Mark commented, scoping out the distance between the estate and the nearest hill just a short half-mile away. "Maybe we should take this inside."

Frank's smile was understanding as he watched Mark try to usher the Judge inside the main house. After listening to the older man grumble and drag his heels, the amused lieutenant decided to help. "Milt, don't be a donkey. Get in the house."

Tickled, Mark grinned. "Donkey! See, even Frank recognizes what you are. Heehaw, heehaw!"

"Doesn't even sound like a donkey," Hardcastle tried to sound annoyed, but the smile gave him away.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Leo Lipman had friends and allies everywhere, including the police department. That circle of contacts helped him gather information whenever he was hired to do a job.

"His name is Mark McCormick. Isn't he the cutest thing?" Carla de la Fuentes gave a long sigh. "I love watching him with the Judge, they're so cute together."

"Cute? You mean like a couple?" Leo asked the records clerk, a perky redhead who knew nothing about his illegal acts.

"Couple?" She blinked at him before erupting into peals of laughter. "You think Hardcase Hardcastle and that dishy Mark McCormick are…doing the wild thing?" Carla was wiping tears of laughter from her grass green eyes as she struggled to regain her composure.

Leo grinned in response. "Guess that's a no, huh?"

"Oh, Leo honey, I'd sooner believe you were gay than Judge Hardcastle."

"I've gotta agree with you, I've never seen a guy less likely to be gay, but that McCormick kid always seems to hanging around him." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Made me wonder, that's all."

"Well, I can certainly understand that. Not everyone understands why the Judge took Mark in, much less how their relationship evolved."

Leo's smile was authentic this time. He knew Carla could tell him everything he needed to know about the relationship between the two men. "Sounds like it might be quite a story."

"It certainly is."

"Tell me all about it."

And so she did.

-- H&McC --

"That doesn't make sense." Carlos Guzman paced the den of his hideout, having begun shortly before Leo concluded his report. "Hardcastle was instrumental in McCormick being sent to prison. And apparently holds another, longer prison term over his head as a club, a threat to keep him in line. How could they be friends?"

"Don't know, boss, but unless McCormick is one hell of an actor, they really are close friends. I've had them under observation for a couple of weeks now and I can tell you it's true." Leo had no answer for the other man.

"So despite being an ex-con at the mercy of a retired judge who essentially has the power of life or death over him, we have no chance of enlisting Mark McCormick into our plans?" Guzman stopped, propping his fists on his hips.

"Not only no chance, but…" Leo hesitated.

"But what?"

"I asked around, listened to a lot of stories about the exploits of Hardcastle and McCormick, and I've come to the same conclusions."

"Which are? Don't drag it out, Leo."

"I think…I believe that any attempt to kill Hardcastle up close and personal will require going through McCormick first."

"They're that close?"

"Yes, I believe they are. If I had to guess, I'd say their relationship is that of father and son."

Guzman shook his head as he resumed his seat. "A great pity. I hadn't planned on anyone dying except for those responsible for my conviction."

-- H&McC --

Hardcastle watched with great interest and no little amusement as Mark pulled down the newest window shade installed in the house, this one in the kitchen. The shades were thick, blocking almost all the sunshine. "Do you have any idea what my light bill is gonna look like?"

Mark ignored the dig as he flipped the overhead lights on. "At least you might live long enough to complain about it."

"McCormick…"

"Frank called," Mark said flatly.

"When?" The Judge didn't remember hearing the telephone ring.

"While you were taking a shower this morning."

"And?"

"Three more members of the jury were murdered."

"Damn it! I thought everyone was under guard, particularly the jury."

"They were, but this sniper is good. He took out one of the jurors through their kitchen window. Best they can figure, the sniper climbed a tree and hid, waiting for his opportunity. Because there were no hills or taller buildings nearby, the guard detail assumed it was safe when she was inside." Mark finished cleaning up the kitchen counter of the surplus screws and tools from installing the shades. "Now do you understand why I've gone to such, what did you call it, ridiculous lengths to cut the line of sight of the sniper?"

Hardcastle didn't like to admit that he might be wrong, but he also realized that McCormick's concern was valid and sincere. "Yeah, okay. You might have a point."

The obvious reluctance in the Judge's voice brought an answering smile from Mark. "Whoa, where's the calendar? I've got to jot this down. Judge Milton C. Hardcastle admits that I'm right and he's wrong."

"That's not what I said, kiddo. There was no mention of right or wrong."

"Uh huh, that's what it sounded like to me."

"Delusional as well as paranoid."

"Right." McCormick opened the refrigerator door, staring inside. "How do you feel about turkey subs for lunch?"

"Good. Slice up some tomatoes, too." The Judge calmly accepted the change of subject.

"You want a salad?" The younger man pulled turkey slices, cheese, half a head of lettuce and two plump, rosy tomatoes. After placing them on the cutting board, he returned to the fridge to retrieve mayonnaise.

The Judge searched for the rolls, opening the numerous cabinets in the kitchen without success. "McCormick! Where's the bread?"

"In the bread box, Judge. The white box over by the microwave." Mark took the bread from Hardcastle, splitting the hoagie-style rolls and slathering them with mayonnaise. He grimaced when the Judge waved the jar of mustard in front of him. "With turkey?"

"Why not? I've always had them with mustard and mayo, just like my burgers."

"Yeah, another strange eating habit."

The Judge's laugh huffed out. "This from a man whose last girlfriend convinced him to dip French fries in a mixture of mayo and ketchup."

"It tastes good," Mark admitted sheepishly.

"There you go. So does mustard and mayo."

As they ate, Mark tried to get the Judge to agree to leave town, even when he knew there was no chance of it happening. "Guzman is dangerous, crazy dangerous. If you'd go away for a while, it might give the cops time to catch him."

Hardcastle glared at him. "I've said it once and I'll say it again. The threats of a lowlife like Guzman aren't gonna make me tuck my tail between my legs and run."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that."

"McCormick, did you ever meet Guzman while you were at San Quentin?"

"I don't know every con that's done time there, Hardcase," the younger man protested.

"Never thought you did, but you might've heard about him." It wasn't much of an apology, but served as one in Hardcastle's mind.

"Yeah, I'd heard about him, but he was considered dangerous even for that place, so he was kept out of the general population. Suited me fine, but considering people like Weed Randall were unrestricted, I can just imagine how dangerous Carlos Guzman must be."

Hardcastle saw the shadow pass over his friend's face at the mention of the man he had been forced to kill. He desperately wanted to wipe that horrible event from McCormick's memory, but Hardcastle knew that would never happen. All that could be done had and was being done.

"You aren't going after this nutcase, are you, Judge?" Mark asked fearfully.

"Not personally, no. Although I'm willing to give Frank any help that I can, I don't know much about Guzman." Hardcastle ignored the sigh of relief at his reply.

"I'm kinda surprised. You don't have a file on Guzman in the basement?"

Hardcastle sipped his beer before replying. "Oh, there's a file, kiddo, a thick one filled with the various crimes Guzman was suspected of committing. But I have almost nothing on his background or other personal matters."

Both men having finished lunch, Mark began clearing the table. "Is Frank putting the jurors in protective custody?"

"That's the plan, although how long the District Attorney will authorize the expense is anyone's guess. It won't be long, that's for sure."

"Half the jury is dead, Judge. They can't just abandon the others. That kind of thing could make it impossible to find a fair and unbiased jury pool. The chance to be killed for your community service would tend to lower the number of available jurors."


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Against Mark's vehemently expressed wishes, he and Hardcastle had left the relative safety of Gull's-Way to visit Frank Harper in his office. They were followed to the station by the sole police guard that Hardcastle reluctantly agreed to have.

"What are you two doing here?" Frank asked wearily.

"Just checking on the progress you've made," Hardcastle replied.

"Nothing. No one has seen a sign of Carlos Guzman."

Mark's laugh was curt. "Or if they did see him, they weren't stupid enough to tell the cops."

"Yeah, there's that." Frank's sigh was heartfelt.

"What's being done about the surviving members of the hit list?" Mark asked.

"Five of them and their families have been put up in a local hotel which is surrounded by cops. The District Attorney is trying to decide whether to go on a round the world tour or be brave for his constituents."

Hardcastle had no doubts about the D.A.'s ultimate decision. "He's a political animal, Frank, with an eye on the Governor's Mansion. He'll stay, but he'll demand three times the number of police officers as are watching the remaining jurors."

"You said five."

"What?" Frank turned to face McCormick.

"You said five jurors were under guard. What about the sixth?" Mark dreaded the answer, not just because another person would be dead. With each name crossed off Guzman's list, he'd be one closer to Hardcastle.

"According to his neighbors, Mr. Giddens is on a cruise to Europe. We're still trying to discover which cruise line."

"So what happens now?"

"Police work. Mind-numbing, back-breaking, paper-producing police work."

"And can you get him? Before anyone else is killed?" _Before he gets to the Judge?_

"Honestly?"

Mark nodded.

"Unless he makes a stupid mistake or we get lucky, I doubt it. Guzman's a professional, Mark. He knows what he's doing and few people close to him would take the chance of betraying him. They know that it would be a death sentence, a very painful death sentence."

"Damn it, Frank!" McCormick slammed his fist against the file cabinet next to where he was perched on Harper's desk.

Hardcastle leaned forward in the visitor chair. "They'll get him, McCormick. People like Guzman think they're untouchable. His own arrogance will get him caught." He slapped McCormick on the leg. "I know you're worried, kiddo, but don't take it out on Frank."

Sheepishly, Mark apologized. "I'm sorry, Frank. I know you're doing the best you can."

"I understand, believe me. All I can do, Mark, is advise you and the Judge to take as many precautions as possible. And keep your trips outside to a minimum."

-- H&McC --

"Got the plans you wanted, boss." Leo brought rolls of paper into the small living room where Carlos Guzman was waiting. He spread a detailed map of the area on a table. "As far as I can tell, the best way to get onto the grounds is from the beach, but it's also the most exposed. Any successful attempt would have to be made at night." He pulled an envelope from his jacket. "I took some pictures of the area from a sightseeing helicopter."

Guzman flipped through the photographers. "Once you get on the grounds, there's plenty of cover. Looks like trees are everywhere."

Leo reached over and took two photos from the pack. "This is the main house. Hardcastle lives in it alone." He gave Guzman the first picture.

"There was a housekeeper, back when I was on trial."

"Sarah. She retired a couple of years ago, never was replaced."

Leo placed the second photograph on the table. "This is the Gatehouse, a small guest area. It has a living room with a loft bedroom. There's a bathroom and a small kitchen…somewhere."

"Somewhere? It's a small building, Leo. It shouldn't be that hard to find."

Leo shrugged. "I found plans for the house, but there are no plans to the Gatehouse. Anyway, McCormick lives there."

"McCormick doesn't live in the main house? Well, that might make our job a lot easier if we plan it correctly. And that might save McCormick's life."


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"Hello, Hardcastle's House of Pain, Mark speaking."

"Mark, where's the Judge?"

The tone in Frank Harper's question wiped the smile off McCormick's face. "What happened?"

"Get Milt."

"Frank? Please." Mark clutched the den phone tightly in suddenly sweaty hands.

"It's not on the news yet, but the hotel where the Guzman trial jurors and their families were sequestered was fire-bombed."

"Jesus." Mark dropped into the Judge's chair. "How many dead?"

"Just the jurors. Guzman's sniper picked them off as they fled the fire. The only other victim was an elderly man who suffered a severe case of smoke inhalation. He's currently recovering at Rampart General Hospital."

Mark looked up as the Judge walked into the room. He slid out of the chair, handing the phone silently to his friend.

"What is it? McCormick?"

"I've…it's Frank. He's got news." Mark waved his hand at the list. "Two more to go, Judge." Without another word, he left the den.

"Frank, what the hell's going on?" McCormick is white as a sheet."

The lieutenant explained what had happened. "Milt, you've moved radically up the list. In fact, you might be next. Our last juror won't be returning from his cruise anytime soon. Interpol has removed him from the ship and graciously agreed to provide protection until Guzman is arrested. And our illustrious District Attorney is flying to the Far East for a fact finding mission. That leaves just you in town. I don't suppose you'd consider taking a vacation of your own somewhere out of the country?"

"What do you think?" Hardcastle asked.

"Yeah, that's what I figured," Frank grumbled. "I'm increasing your police guard as of tomorrow."

"No."

"Yes. Look, Milt, you're not the only one who could be in danger out there."

"Guzman has no interest in taking out bystanders or innocents. He's clearly showing us that."

"Yeah," Frank agreed. "He's been good about that. Except you're the one he's truly angry with. You passed sentence on him. And, from what I gather, you exchanged words with him during the trial."

"There might have been a few heated moments, all outside the hearing of the jury. So?"

"According to his cellmate, he wanted a more personal revenge on you. Whoever his sniper might be, that won't be how Guzman takes you out."

"You think he'll come after me personally," Hardcastle said.

"Yep. And who do we both know who will be standing in front of you when Guzman does show up?" Frank asked.

"McCormick."

"You've got it in one."

"Maybe I can send him away."

"Milt, don't be ridiculous. You know better than that, or you should. He'll be dogging your footsteps every inch of the way."

"I guess he will. Okay, Frank, beef up our security. We'll make some changes here as well."

"Like keeping your front and rear gates closed?"

"Like that and getting back to using the alarm system. The kid's been on my case about it, but I've never liked the hassle of using it."

"Give him a break, Milt. He's really scared for you," Frank said softly.

"Yeah, okay, fine." Hardcastle shrugged, a smile sneaking onto his face. "He's really something, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is. I like Mark and I don't want to see either of you laid out on a slab in autopsy, so watch it."

-- H&McC --

"We go tonight, Leo," Guzman announced.

"What about the other two? The juror and the D.A.?"

"Sadly, we will have to delay these executions. With both individuals out of the country, we have no choice. They'll keep."

"Hardcastle is probably gonna guess that," Leo commented.

"That's why we're going tonight, before he has time to make Gull's-Way into a fortress. We've studied the plans well enough to move about in the dark. There's no moon either, a big help as we come in from the beach."

Leo grinned. "Night maneuvers. I love 'em."

"Get what we need and be prepared to leave at ten o'clock. I want to hit the place at midnight while everyone is asleep and any guards are drowsy." Guzman's smile made Lipman glad his boss wasn't after him.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

"Time to call it a night, McCormick," Hardcastle said as he switched off the television set.

"Yeah, I guess so." Mark stretched until his vertebrae popped. "Set your alarms on, Judge. I'll just walk around the grounds once before I head for the Gatehouse. Are you sure I shouldn't stay here in the main house?"

"It's not necessary. Neither is your prowling around the grounds every night, but I guess I can't stop you from doing that, huh?"

Mark grinned as he shook his head. "Nope, not a chance."

"That's what I figured. Just remember to turn your own alarm on."

"Yeah, yeah, I will. Night, Judge."

"Night, kiddo."

Mark waited outside the front door until he heard the heavy snick of the lock and the soft beep of the alarm being activated, then he sauntered to the stone wall overlooking the ocean. It was pitch black out, yet there was a glow to the south where the lights of Santa Monica pierced the night sky. Even the ocean's white caps caused by the rocky shore line also glowed with a surreal fluorescence.

He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his chin resting on them. Breathing in deeply, Mark's eyes gased at the array of stars above. His smile was satisfied, this was home. Mark glanced back at the main house, his smile becoming softer. That curmudgeonly old man, once the bane of his life, now was his family. _No one is gonna hurt you if I can help it_.

Mark frowned when two shadows seemed to move from behind the pool house. He squinted in an attempt to bring the dark shapes into focus. As the shadows shifted in the darkness, Mark realized that it was no illusion. He turned and raced for the Gatehouse and the panic button for the alarm, screaming the Judge's name.

One of the shadows shifted, blocking his way to the alarm box. "Dammit." Mark turned and ran to the still dark house. "Judge! Hit the alarm! Judge!!" He began pounding on the front door, desperate to alert Hardcastle. As he wondered where their police guard was, the world crashed down on his head.

-- H&McC --

Guzman stared down at the body crumpled at his feet. "Damn, Leo. Looks like we'll have to kill two people on this trip."

Leo joined him, shrugging. "Them's the breaks, boss." He looked up at the house containing their main target. "Might make things easier to get inside."

"Oh, definitely." Guzman reached down and grabbed a handful of curly hair, pulling the unconscious man's head up. "Hardcastle! I know you're there. Got your boy here. He's not looking too good. If you don't put down the weapon that I know you have, I'll have to finish him off."

The two killers waited outside the house, Guzman's pistol pressed into the nape of McCormick's neck. At first the house was quiet. Then they heard the lock open, the door pulling back to reveal an unarmed Judge Hardcastle.

"If you're gonna kill me, get it over with, but let the kid go. He had nothing to do with any of this." Hardcastle couldn't take his eyes off the man hanging limply from Guzman's grip.

"I might consider it, if you don't give us any trouble."

Hardcastle nodded, wincing when Guzman let McCormick's head drop back to the concrete. "Can I…I want to bring him inside."

Guzman stepped back to allow Hardcastle access to his friend. "Leo, give the Judge a hand."

After surrendering his weapon to Guzman, Leo helped the Judge carry McCormick into the house. "Upstairs to my bedroom."

Leo looked to Guzman for his okay, before following Hardcastle up the stairs. Supporting the unconscious man, they slowly moved down the hallway, the Judge walking backwards, holding McCormick's shoulders and trying to support his head. Finally they arrived at the master bedroom, conveniently placed at the back corner of the house, with a good view of the ocean out of the windows during the daylight hours.

"Let him down easy. Easy!" Hardcastle barked when Leo dropped his half of McCormick onto the bed. He continued to glare as he carefully set Mark's still slowly bleeding head onto the pillow. "I'll need some first aid supplies out of the bathroom."

Guzman nodded. "Leo, check for weapons. Do the bathroom first, then the bedroom."

"On it, boss."

Guzman walked to the bed, staring down at McCormick and observing how Hardcastle fussed over the younger man. "Here's the deal, Hardcase. You give us any trouble, Leo kills your friend. You cooperate, he'll live through this. All I want is your death and everyone involved in that farce of a trial."

"I'm supposed to just let you kill me? No fuss, no muss? Then just do it," Hardcastle said as he used the spare pillow's case, ripped from the pillow, to sop up the clotting blood from the wound on the back of Mark's head.

"Oh, no. That would be too easy. I want to take some time with you."

"What happened to the cop stationed outside the gate?"

"Unfortunately, I couldn't spare his life. Leo had to eliminate him."

"Then your time is limited. Sooner or later, someone will find him. If not when the dispatcher can't raise him on the radio, then early in the morning with shift change."

"Understood, your honor," Guzman replied. "It should be more than enough time to make you feel pain before I kill you."

"All clear, boss." Leo returned from a thorough search of the master bathroom.

"Okay, Hardcase, take care of your boy. Then we'll be moving this downstairs." Guzman made himself comfortable in a nearby chair while Leo searched the bedroom.

-- H&McC --

Mark groaned as he fought his way back to consciousness. He feebly tried to touch his aching head, only to have his hand gripped by another's just as he was about to let it drop weakly onto the mattress. He swallowed in an attempt to control the nausea boiling in his stomach, coughing harshly. A bright white light flashed behind his still closed eyelids.

"Easy, slow and easy, kiddo."

"Wha…?" It was too much of a struggle to form words, much less complete sentences, but he didn't understand why his skull felt as shattered as an egg shell.

"You want to know what happened?" The voice was gruff and familiar.

Mark squeezed the hand clasping his. "Yes…"

"You got clocked when you got between Guzman and the house. No, don't move. You need to stay still, McCormick."

"Head…hurts…"

"Yeah, I imagine it does. Do you think you can do what I told you?"

"Stay…still?"

"Yes, that's right. I think you might have a skull fracture, so you don't want to be moving around."

"'kay." Mark was frustrated by his inability to focus his eyesight on the Judge.

"Good." Not wanting to disturb him by trying to pull the bedcovers out from under McCormick, Hardcastle grabbed a well-worn quilt from the bench at the foot of the bed and draped it over the prone man. "I want you to just rest until the paramedics can get out here. Don't worry, I'm taking care of everything."

Mark struggled to think, to remember. "Where's…where's Guzman?"

"Staying still also means keeping quiet," Hardcastle said, ignoring the question.

"He's still here?"

"He's still here." This voice was new to the injured man, smooth and slightly accented. "You really shouldn't have interfered, McCormick. I was willing to let you live if you had simply minded your own business."

Mark's laughter turned into a painful cough. Once he caught his breath, he sipped from the glass of water that was held to his lips. The cool liquid slid down his throat, soothing him. "Thanks, Judge."

"What was so funny, McCormick?" Guzman asked.

"Nothing. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"It's just something that I'm always telling Hardcase."

"Then I would say that you should take your own advice. Don't cause any trouble, McCormick, and Leo and I will be gone by morning. The police will call an ambulance for you and your life will soon return to normal."

Mark frowned. "But what about the Judge?"

"Ah, his life will be forfeit. It is the price for my wrongful conviction."

"You're claiming you were innocent?" Hardcastle huffed.

"Of that particular crime, yes."

"I think you've more than made up for that," Mark commented.

"Perhaps." Guzman chuckled. "I thought you'd understand, considering you also claim you were wrongfully convicted by the same judge. Yet here you are, close friends as well as business partners."

Mark smiled wryly. "Yeah, life's a confusing bitch, isn't she?"

"The room's clear, boss. All I found was the shotgun in the corner." Leo stood near the doorway, the shotgun cradled in one arm while in the other he still held a handgun ready for service.

"Okay, Judge Hardcastle will be downstairs with Leo and myself. I'm willing to leave you alone up here, comfortably resting. I don't actually think you're in any condition to be a danger." Guzman leaned over McCormick, probing at the wound.

The world exploded once again with pain and Mark slid back into the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

Downstairs, Hardcastle was tied to a kitchen chair, his right eye swollen from the punch given to him by Leo for grabbing Guzman's arm.

"I thought we had an agreement, Hardcase. You cooperate and your young friend survives to see the morning," Guzman said coldly.

"You were hurtin' the kid. If he does have a skull fracture, almost anything could kill him. That's not part of the agreement."

Guzman shrugged before backhanding the Judge, his signet ring cutting the bound man's cheek. "I set the rules, Hardcastle, not you, not anyone else." With that, Guzman began the systematic beating of Hardcastle, hard enough to inflict pain, but not so hard as to bring blessed unconsciousness.

-- H&McC --

Mark surfaced once again, puzzled by the female voice that had pulled him back to painful reality. That particular problem was quickly moved to the back burner when he heard the soft thuds of fists hitting flesh. "Son of a…"

The darkness pressed in as he pulled himself upright, but he fought it back, refusing to let it win.

"Slowly," came a soft whisper.

Mark's head shot up, explosions of white balls of light accompanying the agony in his skull. Once the disco lights died down, he saw a woman standing across the room. As his eyes, now slowly returning to normal, tracked downward, he was startled to realize that she had no feet.

He blinked and looked again. He still didn't see feet or, for that matter, ankles. The mysterious figure was floating, awash in a misty haze. "Who are you? What are you?"

"A friend, Mark. I'm a friend."

"You look like a ghost. But that can't be right, I don't see ghosts." He slowly swung his legs to the side of the bed, letting them dangle as he caught his breath. "You also look familiar. Do I know you?"

"We've never met, but I've watched you and Milt for a few years now."

Mark frowned. "Great, a stalker ghost. I really don't have time for this right now, ma'am. I've got a live psycho who is planning on killing the Judge slowly and painfully."

"I know, but you won't be any help to Milt if you pass out. You have to move slowly, Mark. And you need a plan."

"Call the cops. That's my plan."

"The phones have been disconnected."

"Crap." He carefully rose to his feet, holding onto the headboard. As he waited for his head to clear and the dizziness to subside, his gaze fell on the framed photograph on the nightstand. "You're the Judge's wife!"

The dark-haired woman smiled. "That's right. I'm Nancy Hardcastle."

"Geez, I'm…I don't know what to say. I mean, I've never met a real ghost before."

"A simple hello works. As you said yourself, we don't have time for more."

"Can you help me? Be my eyes, tell me where Guzman and his man are while I try to get us some help?"

"Of course."

Mark blew out his breath as he tested his ability to stand unaided. He caught himself against the wall before he tipped too far to the side. "Well, that certainly didn't work."

"Milt used to have a cane in the closet, from when he was shot in the leg. If you can make it over there, it might help," Nancy offered.

"It wouldn't hurt. Plus it might make a decent weapon if this all goes to hell." Mark grit his teeth and slowly made his way across the room, making use of both the furniture and the walls to keep his balance.

Finally he arrived at the closet and opened the door. He peered inside, spotting the ivory-topped wood far in the back. Mark pulled it out and tested it, careful to stay close to the wall just in case the cane didn't work.

After a few moments of practice, Mark grinned at his ghostly companion. "Cool. That'll help."

"What now?"

"I'm in no condition to take them on, so I have to get us help. The cop on the gate?"

"Dead. They cut his throat."

"Damn. Okay, you said that the phone lines were cut. Just here or on the estate?"

"I don't understand."

"The Gatehouse has a separate line. If they don't know that and only cut the phone line from the main house, I might be able to call for backup."

"I only saw them near the back of this house."

"Good. Then let's get the hell out of here before they beat Milt into a pulp." Mark grimaced when he moved too fast, making his head spin. "I'm gonna need your help, Mrs. H. There's no way I can move fast enough to avoid being seen."

"You want me to act as lookout?" Nancy grinned impishly. "How exciting."

"Well, I…I guess it's a little boring being a ghost, huh?"

"I should say so. Especially when I'm watching you and Milt have all the fun."

"Yeah, fun," Mark muttered.

They made their way down the hallway, Nancy floating ahead to check for trouble. Arriving at the staircase, Mark eased his way onto each step, one hand gripping the cane while the other pressed flatly against the wall for support.

The closer he got to the soft thuds coming from the den, the tighter his face became. It galled him to be so helpless, forced to leave Hardcastle at the mercy of Carlos Guzman. All he could do was try to get help, and hope it came in time.

Nancy held her hand up. "Wait."

Mark froze, praying that neither Guzman nor his hired sniper became curious about the supposedly unconscious man left upstairs. While he waited for Nancy to give him the all-clear, Mark fretted about his inability to save the day.

"Mark? They've taken a break. Guzman and Leo are in the kitchen. If you move now, you should be able to make it outside without being seen."

Mark nodded, then had to lean against the wall. "I've gotta stop doing that," he whispered. As he made his way to the front door, Mark couldn't stop from looking into the den. His jaw clenched as he saw the Judge tied to the chair, his head bowed. Mark desperately longed to rush in, untie Hardcastle, and run for cover.

"Mark," Nancy said with an understanding smile. "We don't have much time. You're helping him the only way you can, by calling the police."

"I…" he choked. Teeth clenched, he resolutely shuffled forward, leaning heavily on the cane. He finally reached the door, took a deep breath and slowly turned the knob. While Nancy stood watch, Mark moved carefully outside.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

The trip across the lawn was as nerve-wracking as any race Mark had participated in during his life. Relying only on the cane to keep his equilibrium was frightening. Pavement or grass, both had their dangers. One slip and it would be all over.

Nancy hovered alongside him as Mark carefully moved his feet, his eyes focused on the ground immediately in front of him. His face was set, his heart aching. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't forget the sight of the unconscious Hardcastle in the den.

Mark's arrival at the Gatehouse patio came as a surprise. He looked up to see the French doors and almost cried in relief. He lifted one foot, planting it securely on the concrete before stepping up with the other. Just before he opened the doors, the weary man turned to his ghostly companion. "Go to him."

"Mark, I can't do anything to help him, to stop them from hurting him."

"I know, but if…if he…"

"I refuse to accept that outcome, Mark McCormick. Now get in there and call the Cavalry. Move it or lose it, mister!"

A small smile appeared on Mark's pain-filled face and he pushed his way into the Gatehouse. Afraid to attract unwanted attention, he had to negotiate the living room in the dark. Extra careful due to his lack of balance, Mark felt his way around the couch and to the table against the far wall.

A lifetime later, his hand felt the cool plastic of his telephone. "Keep your fingers crossed, Mrs. H, if you have any." He picked the receiver up and pressed it to his ear. "Please, please, please."

-- H&McC --

"We're back, Judge." Guzman reached over and tipped Hardcastle's face up, his hand under the semi-conscious man's chin. "You should get more veggies, keep it healthy. You'll live longer."

Leo laughed, slurping at the glass of lemonade he carried with him. "That's a good one, boss."

"I don't think the Judge appreciates it, Leo," Guzman commented.

"Maybe he doesn't have a sense of humor."

"Yeah, maybe that's it." Guzman laughed before punching the bound man in the face. "Guess I'll just have to beat it into you."

After a few more punches, Guzman shook his hand in the air. "Gotta hand it to you, Judge. You've got a hell of a hard head. Might have to change to body shots. That old body can't be too tough." He turned to his associate. "Leo, go check on our young friend. While you're there, see if the bathroom has salve for my split knuckles."

Leo nodded and ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. He quickly returned with much less grace. "Boss, he's gone!"

"What? What the hell are you talking about? Hardcastle was right about him, he definitely has a skull fracture. There's no way he can have gone far. Search the house. I'll check outside." Guzman patted the Judge on his blood-streaked cheek. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon. Seems like your boy doesn't want to survive until morning. If I don't kill him, moving around with that kind of injury might. All it takes is one bone splinter and wham! He's done."

Guzman never saw Hardcastle lift his battered face, his bloody lips curving in a satisfied smile. _Hide, kiddo, just hide._

-- H&McC --

"Are you out of your mind? You can't take them on, Mark, they'll kill you!" Nancy was frustrated by her young friend's intransigent manner.

"I can't just let them whale on the Judge. He could be dead before anyone gets here. Mrs. H, I can't do it!" They were making their way to the pool house where Hardcastle had stashed weapons and extra ammunition in a special storage place. Mark was in agony, every shuffled step sending spikes of sharp pain through his skull.

"And what will he say if you kill yourself with this quixotic quest?" Nancy's ghostly form was pulsating with anger. "You're just as pigheaded as Milt! Two of a kind, both of you."

"Don't know if I'm insulted or not, but I do know that I'm gonna do this, no matter what happens." He stopped, leaning heavily on the cane. "Will you still help me?"

"Argghh!" She disappeared, leaving Mark alone in the dark.

He sighed. "Guess I got my answer."

He continued on, carefully feeling his way with both his feet and the cane. Once he reached the steps, McCormick knew he was getting closer. He envisioned the area to orientate himself, then moved confidently, if slowly, to the brick wall. He let his fingers touch the rough surface at about chest level, trailing them along until he felt a change to cold metal. "Aha."

Needing both hands to remove a gun and load it, he leaned his shoulder against the brick and rested the cane near his leg so he could find it again. Then he pulled the cache door open and reached inside, his fingers closing familiarly around the butt of a pistol. He quickly loaded it, then stuck it in his waist. _Let's hope that I don't trip and finish myself off before I make it back to the house._

"That Guzman character is on the other side of the house, so you'd better move."

"Jeez, Mrs. H, give a guy a heart attack, why doncha? Did you learn that from the Judge?" Mark pressed his hand against his chest.

"He learned it from me. Better not speak any more until we get inside."

"Got it. Okay, you keep an eye on Guzman and I'll make my way to the front door."

"Okay, I'll help. Stay close to the bushes. If I even think this person is heading in your direction, I'll be back to warn you. And you, mister, will crawl into them and hide. Are we clear?"

"Yeah, yeah," Mark whispered, making shooing motions with his hands before grabbing the cane and resuming his trip.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

McCormick glanced at Nancy before opening the front door. Unable to verbalize, he relied on his raised eyebrows to communicate his question, squinting at her softly glowing form.

"The other one, Leo, went outside to help search for you. He's in the Gatehouse. Mark, you still have time to hide. They'll never believe that you came back into the house." Nancy had tried repeatedly to get McCormick to change his plans without success. "And where the hell are the cops?"

Mark slipped into the house, praying that the light spilling through the door wouldn't give him away. Once inside, he blew his breath out, then used his hand against the wall, tapping the cane on the floor in front of him.

"Mark? What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for the step," he replied softly. "I…I can't see, Mrs. H."

"Oh, my poor boy."

"Get me to the Judge. Please."

She gave him detailed instructions to help him arrive safely. "What are you planning, Mark? What can you do without your sight?"

"Judge?" Mark's outstretched hand came in contact with the top of Hardcastle's bowed head. He let his hand caress the whiskery cheek before he dropped to his knees. "Guzman and Leo have only used the front door since they arrived, right?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I had already locked the back door, so if they haven't gone out that way, it's still locked and their only avenue to get back into the house is through the front door. I should've locked it behind me."

"What are you planning, Mark?"

He pulled the gun and smiled sadly. "To protect Hardcastle, to keep him alive long enough for the cavalry to arrive. I need you to be my eyes once more, Mrs. H. Will you do it?"

"This isn't right. It isn't safe."

"Right? Right! Hardcase being blamed for doing his job isn't right, being worked over isn't right. My being unable to protect him isn't right! And at this point in time, I don't give a rat's ass about safe!"

"Okay, calm down. I'll do what I can."

"I need to orientate myself." He pointed the gun where he guessed the opening to the den to be. "How close am I?"

"Move the muzzle just a bit to the right. That's it. Bring it down a few inches or you'll shoot over their heads."

"Thanks." Mark was weak and trembling. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay on his knees much longer. He sighed, sitting on the floor beside the Judge's chair, half-leaning against the wood. With the gun tightly gripped in his right hand, he gently rested his left on the unconscious man's thigh.

"What now?" Nancy asked.

"Now we wait and pray."

-- H&McC --

Leo caught up with Guzman as the older man was about to return to the main house. "Anything?"

"No. I don't understand how he could simply disappear. The cars are still here and I checked both the beach access as well as the driveway. There was no sign of him. What about the Gatehouse?"

Leo frowned. "We may have problems there. I can't tell you why, but I picked up the phone while was there. McCormick has a separate line, one we didn't cut. If he made it there, he probably called the cops."

"That means we need to finish this. No more time for playing." Guzman nodded decisively. "Fine. All good things must come to an end sooner or later." He pulled his pistol as he walked into the house.

"Hold it right there!"

Guzman was surprised to see the missing man sitting in the den, a gun in his hand. "Well, well. I certainly didn't expect to find you here."

"No, I don't suppose you did. Drop your weapons and kick them into the den." McCormick tilted his head to the side as if listening to someone or something.

"Boss? I can take him," Leo murmured.

"Not yet." Guzman tossed his gun into the den.

Leo Lipman dropped his weapon on the floor and slide it with his foot off the step. "What now, hotshot?"

"On the ground, hands behind your head," McCormick ordered.

Guzman obeyed, albeit slowly. As he spread out onto the floor, he noticed that McCormick's eyes didn't follow him. "He's blind. Leo, now!"

Lipman flung himself at McCormick, reaching behind his back for his spare .38.

-- H&McC --

"Fire, Mark, fire!" Nancy shouted.

Mark pulled the trigger, hitting Leo in the shoulder and making him drop the gun. But he couldn't stop Leo's momentum, and was slammed to the floor by the sniper. They grappled for the gun while Guzman tried to retrieve one of the other weapons kicked across the room during the struggle.

Sirens could be heard from the street, increasing the fight for supremacy between the killers and the one man who stood between them and success. As the police cars screeched to a halt outside, Mark was pushed back into Hardcastle's chair, knocking it and the man onto the floor.

"Dammit, Leo, I had him in my sights," Guzman complained, his pistol once again in his possession.

"Shoot them both!" Lipman ground out, panting.

"My pleasure."


	9. Chapter 9

9.

Lieutenant Frank Harper directed his men to surround the house as he headed for the front door, bulletproof vest firmly in place. He reached for the door, planning to ease it open slowly and carefully. Before he could touch the knob, the door flew open, slamming against the wall. He felt an ice cold force at his back, driving him into the house.

The scene that greeted him was a horrific nightmare in the making. His old friend, Milt Hardcastle, was tied to an overturned chair. His newer friend, Mark McCormick, was feebly trying to shield Hardcastle. Guzman had a gun aimed at them, seemingly oblivious to Harper's presence.

"Police!" Harper shouted as he fired, aware there was no time to wait. His bullet hit Guzman low on the left side, the impact causing the other man's shot to veer off target. It shattered a lamp on a side table.

"Drop it," Harper ordered.

Guzman hesitated, gauging his chances to kill Hardcastle.

"Drop the gun or I'll drop you. This is my last warning."

With a heavy sigh, Carlos Guzman let the weapon tumble to the floor.

"Lieutenant?"

"In here, Haney. Cuff our friends and have Billings call for an ambulance." With a concerned look at the four men, he amended his order. "Better make that two ambulances and the paramedics."

"Got it."

Once Guzman and his associate were safely under guard, Frank moved to the two remaining men. He reached for Mark, only to flinch back when the other man swung at him. The blow didn't connect. "Easy, slugger. It's all over. We've got them."

Mark reached out, his hand weaving about until Frank grabbed his wrist.

"Mark? What is it? What's wrong?"

"How's the Judge?"

"I was just about to check him over. But you do it fi you want."

"I…I can't. I think I'm in trouble here, Frank."

"What kind of trouble?"

Mark cocked his head to one side. "Okay, Mrs. H." He smiled wearily in Frank's general direction. "Can you cut the Judge loose?"

Harper looked nervously around the room before complying. He carefully checked Hardcastle for hidden injuries, then carefully laid the older man on the floor. "As you can see, he's been worked over pretty good. How bad? I'm no doctor."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna tell him. Geez, what a nag!"

"Who are you talking to, Mark?"

"You'd never believe me."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry, Frank. I don't mean to be mysterious. It's just, uh, I can't see you. Or the Judge."

"What?" Frank realized for the first time that blood matted Mark's curls, not sweat.

"Hardcase thought…" Mark paused, swallowed. "He thinks I might have a fractured skull."

"Jesus Christ! What are you doing moving around? And fighting? Are you out of your mind?"

"Stupid kid."

Mark and Frank turned at the familiar voice.

"Judge! Just take it easy, an ambulance is on the way. Right, Frank?" Mark reached out, trying to touch his friend. Harper helped by guiding Mark's hand to Hardcastle's shoulder.

"Milt, just stay still. That goes for you, too, Mark. I'll check on the ambulance."

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," Mark said, a smile curling his expressive lips. He slumped back against the overturned chair, giving into the ever increasing pain in his skull.

"McCormick? Mark! Frank!"

-- H&McC --

Mark McCormick frowned, struggling to escape the cloying darkness. He felt enveloped in smothering cotton, lost and alone. His heart began racing, more so when he heard bells and alarms start shrilling. He was thrown back instantly to San Quentin and tried to move, to hide. His arms were grabbed and someone was pushing against his shoulders, pressing him deeper into the mattress. "No! Don't, don't! Not again," he sobbed.

"Shhh, calm down, Mark. You're safe, I've got you," a voice whispered in his ear. "No one is gonna hurt you. They'll let go if you stay still, okay? Can you do that?"

He panted, responding with a slight nod. The hands holding him down were removed, leaving just one resting on his forearm. Mark's eyelids felt as if they were glued shut, but with a Herculean effort he managed to open them. To his surprise, his surroundings were white, not gray. And the people were also dressed in white. Except for one.

"Judge? Judge!" Mark threw himself at the battered man standing beside his hospital bed, setting off more alarms. He tried to put his arms around Hardcastle only to find that his right arm was restricted by the presence of an intravenous tube.

"Hey, hey, what did I say about staying still?" Hardcastle asked gruffly, helping settle his young friend back against the pillows.

"Yeah, okay. I'm sorry, but it's just… Are you okay?"

Hardcastle snorted. "It takes more than a few punches to put me out for the count. How do you feel?"

"Muzzy. Dry-mouthed." Hardcastle didn't look right, but Mark couldn't put his finger on the reason.

"I can do something about that." The Judge spooned ice slivers into Mark's mouth, watching him savor the cool wetness.

"Good."

"That's enough until your doctor checks you over."

As he became more alert, Mark took stock of his surroundings. He nodded at the various machines. "This cause all the noise?"

"The alarms? Yeah."

Mark stared at Hardcastle's face. "You're almost healed."

The Judge didn't comment.

Reaching up with his free hand, Mark felt his head. "Bandages?" He narrowed his eyes. "Just how long have I been here? And what did they do to my hair?"

Before Hardcastle could answer, the younger man's eyes flew open. "Tell me they didn't shave my hair!"

Hardcastle harrumphed. "Listen, kiddo, it'll grow back."

Mark moaned, closing his eyes in pain, this time emotional. They quickly flew open again. "Hey, I can see!"

"Wondered how long it would take you to realize that," Hardcastle said dryly.

"Wow," he breathed, once more looking around the room before turning to gaze at the Judge. "You didn't answer me. How long?"

"A week."

"Tell me."

"The doctor will be here soon. He can explain everything."

"In doctor-speak mumbo-jumbo. You can tell me just as well and without the fifty dollar words. Stop stalling."

Hardcastle fidgeted a bit before nodding. "You definitely had a skull fracture. A few bone fragments meandered through that dopey brain of your, one of which affected your ability to see. The doctor can better explain why and how."

"You're doing just fine, Judge. Go on."

"The other fragment was more dangerous. I can't give you the details, but it was serious enough that almost as soon as you got here to the hospital, you were whisked off for emergency surgery." Hardcastle settled back in the plastic visitor's chair, his weary eyes giving McCormick more information than he probably would've been comfortable with. "Kiddo, you've been unconscious for almost a week. The doctors were beginning to get worried."

"But not you, huh?" Mark asked with a smile.

"Nah, just figured you were catching up on your sleep."

"Well, Mr. McCormick, you finally decided to join us."

Both men looked up to see that the doctor had arrived. Any personal conversation between McCormick and Hardcastle was over.

HahARC


	10. Chapter 10

10.

Mark was pleased to hear the knock on his hospital room door. The fuzzy television had nothing but strange soap operas, lame game shows, and endless reruns of GILLIGAN'S ISLAND. Any visitor was most welcome. The pleasure ratcheted up a notch when he saw the balding head peering in. "Frank! Come in."

Frank Harper grinned as he used his shoulder to push the door open. In his hands he carried a small picnic hamper. At the patient's interested response, Frank's oak brown eyes twinkled. "Claudia was worried that you'd starve."

The hamper was placed on the foot of the bed and Frank pulled the wheeled table over the bed. He began removing bowls and covered plates, placing them on the table. As he uncovered the food, Mark moaned in ecstasy.

"Lasagna, Claudia's world famous lasagna. Frank, I love your wife! As soon as I get out of here, I'm gonna marry her. I need a plate and utensils. Hell, all I need is a fork. Give it over, copper."

"Allow me," Frank said, whipping out a napkin from the hamper and snapping it into the air before tucking it into Mark's pajama top. A gift from Frank, it was pale blue with tiny flying Supermans. "You have a choice of meals, all of which can be frozen if you don't want it today. You've also a choice of desserts, from apple crumb cobbler to double fudge brownies to homemade cookies."

"Apple crumb today. I'll save the others for later."

"Thought you'd say that," Frank replied, stashing the containers in the top drawer of his bedside table.

Frank watched television while Mark chowed down. He was still trying to decide whether Victor was the hero or the villain and what Ashley and Nikki saw in the moustached man when Mark groaned.

"That was great, Frank. Please tell Claudia she saved my life." He pushed the table away, leaning back, sated. "I don't know why hospital food is so tasteless. I mean, sure there's some people who have special diets, but not all of us!"

"Speaking of which, how much longer will you be here?" Harper asked.

"I don't really know. Hardcastle is supposed to be checking on that." Mark lightly touched the bandages still on the back of his head. "I guess they want to make sure that my brains won't leak out before they release me."

"Too late." Hardcastle strode into the room. "Your brains leaked out long before I knew you." He eyed the open container on the table, craning his neck to see the contents.

Mark pulled the table back to himself, curling his arm protectively around the remnants of the lasagna. "Don't even think about it. It's all mine!"

"That's no way to treat the person who knows your release date."

"When?"

Hardcastle didn't answer, turning to talk with Harper. Mark waited impatiently for a break in the conversation, before giving in to his need for an answer. He pulled the container of brownies from the drawer. "Ju-udge, c'mon, tell me."

Mark opened the air-sealed top, letting the smell of chocolate waft through the air. "Tell me and you can have one." He held his finger up.

"How does the day after tomorrow sound?"

McCormick's face glowed. "Like the end of my prison sentence. Judge, for news like that you can have another brownie."

"Don't get too excited, hotshot," Hardcastle admonished, taking a small square of rich brownie. "The doctors still have a whole list of rules that you have to follow."

"Yeah, of course they do. I don't care, Judge, if it gets me out of here."

Harper got to his feet, packing the untouched food into the hamper. "Milt, these items can be frozen for later use by you or Mark. Why don't you take them down to the truck?"

Hardcastle looked suspiciously from the police lieutenant to the patient. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Milt. Don't be so suspicious. I just need to clarify a few things from his statement."

"Go on, Hardcase. I don't mind," Mark said.

"Fine. I'll come back in ten minutes." Hardcastle tapped his watch face in emphasis.

"Got it," Harper chuckled.

Mark waited until the Judge had left the room before explaining apologetically, "He's worried about my using the gun on Lipman."

"Is the Parole Board hassling you any? Because if they are, I can go have a little talk with them," Harper offered.

"No, but thanks. He's just in a 'glass half full' mood right now."

Harper nodded. "He's worried. Milt knows how close he came to losing you. He's just a little shook."

"Yeah, I guess. He'll get over it soon enough. Then things will get back to normal."

"Mark, have you told him?"

"Told him what?"

"That you had help. Help of a…supernatural kind?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." McCormick suddenly found the door to his room fascinating.

Frank leaned forward, staring intently at his nervous young friend. "I heard you talk to it."

Mark shrugged, his face shuttered. "Maybe I was hallucinating."

"Like I hallucinated the front door magically opening? Did I somehow 'catch' your skull fracture and imagine being pushed into the house?"

Mark's blue eyes looked deeply into Harper's face, searching for any sign of ridicule. When he saw only sincerity, he let himself relax. "Thank God. I was almost convinced that I had to be delusional."

"Who was it? Who were you talking to?"

"The Judge's wife, Nancy Hardcastle."

Frank blew his breath out in a rush. "Whoa."

"That's pretty much my reaction."

"Have you told Milt?"

"What? And get put in a padded cell? Thanks, but no thanks. C'mon, Frank, how long have you known Milton C. Hardcastle? Do you actually think he'd believe me?"

Frank considered the question. "Maybe not if it was just you telling him. But with my experience, he'd have to consider it."

Mark shook his head gently. "Hardcase would either explain it away as delirium and coincidence or say you were trying to help me. He'll never believe it."

"Never believe what?" Hardcastle was back.

Frank and Mark exchanged glances, then chorused, "Nothing."

Suspicious once again of what was going on, but knowing that both men were equally stubborn, the Judge didn't pursue the question. "Do you need any more information from McCormick, Frank?"

"Nope, I've got everything I need. I'll see you later, Mark. Take care of yourself."

Hardcastle watched the police lieutenant leave, then turned back to glare at McCormick who, knowing better, leaned back and closed his eyes. "You're up to something," he stated.

Opening one eye, Mark snorted. "I'm stuck in this hospital room, only allowed to get out of bed under close supervision. What could I possibly be up to?"

"I don't know, but you are. And you're corrupting Frank. He never used to be able to keep anything from me."

"Judge, you're starting to sound paranoid. Look, just have a cookie and chill out."

"A cookie? You have cookies as well as brownies."

"Oops," Mark said sheepishly before pointing to the side table. "There's a container in there."

"What kind?"

"Chocolate chip, ginger, and sugar. By the time I get down eating all of the desserts Claudia fixed, I'll be three hundred pounds and bouncing off the walls."

After rummaging through the drawer, Hardcastle pulled out a handful of cookies. "Want something to drink with that cobbler?"

"Yeah, milk. Or coffee, if it's allowed."

"It might be arranged, but it'll have to be decaf for now."

"I never thought I'd be craving coffee. Even decaf will do, thanks."

"Be right back. And don't eat all the desserts!"

Mark grinned, pleased to have the gruff retired jurist apparently staying for a while. The hospital room was lonely, even with the frequent visits by nurses and doctors. Hardcastle had gone out of his way to stay with him in the evenings, the worst part of the day for Mark. With a pleased sigh, Mark pulled the newspaper out to check the television listings, hoping for a good Western that would tempt the older man to stay.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

Homeward bound at last, Mark McCormick resisted the urge to press his nose against the truck window to drink in the sights. Hardcastle had already commented on his hyper activity at the hospital, so Mark was trying to appear calm and collected.

As they passed the various houses perched on the beach side of the Pacific Coast Highway, Mark cracked his window open. Fresh air, gas fumes, salt water, the occasional scent of someone grilling as well as the hint of long dead fish all spelled home to the man with the shaggy curls.

When the two men in the truck finally neared the last stretch of highway before the entrance of Gull's-Way, Mark felt an ache deep in his heart. He never got tired of seeing the vivid blue and white of the ocean's waves, the various shades of tan of the beach, and the contrasting greens and browns of the estate. It all added up to home for him, a term he had never been that familiar with, not even when he was a child. He sighed deeply, a sweet smile on his face.

"You okay?" Judge Hardcastle asked, a concerned light in his faded blue eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Judge. Just glad to be ho…out of the hospital."

Hardcastle caught the slip and smiled in return.

In an uncommon show of concern, Hardcastle pulled the truck close to the front door of the main house and hurried around to the passenger side to assist Mark from the vehicle.

"Judge, I won't shatter. I just have to be a little careful, that's all."

"The doctors don't want you to fall, so I'm gonna make certain you don't."

As they walked to the door, Mark paused, staring around intently. He sighed again, his smile slipping.

"Something wrong? You didn't want a surprise party so soon, did you?" Hardcastle asked, his hand hovering just behind Mark's back, ready to grab the younger man if he so much as looked as if he might slip.

"Not right now. Maybe after I've been home awhile, but right now I just want to take it easy."

The Judge nodded decisively. "Thought you'd feel that way. Told the others we might have a little cookout in a couple of weeks, after the docs clear you."

They stepped into the house, Mark still looking about.

"What are you looking for?"

Mark shrugged. "Nothing really."

Hardcastle didn't buy it, but was willing to let it go for the time being. He ushered Mark into the den and to the younger man's usual chair. "Siddown. I'll get you something to drink. Feeling like eating?"

"Not right now, Judge. But I'd love something to drink. No beer, huh?"

"Not for another week and you know it."

Mark flashed a grin. "It was worth a try." The smile disappeared once the Judge was out of the room. He let his head lean against the back of the chair.

A wisp of cold swept across his face, causing his bright blue eyes to pop open. "Mrs. H?"

"You say something, kid?" Hardcastle bustled in carrying two glasses of lemonade.

"No." Mark was disappointed, then sat up, staring past the Judge. A smile spread across his face, causing his face to glow.

"You're startin' to worry me. Are you sure you're okay? Do you want anything else? Maybe one of your pain pills?"

"Judge, I couldn't be better. I've got everything I want now."


End file.
